


Poor Five

by magicalcookie664



Series: Curse his 13 year old body [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting, Whump, cry, dont shoot me please lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 13:09:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18605170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalcookie664/pseuds/magicalcookie664
Summary: Read the tags!Five just shouldn't have got drunk the other night. Blame the apocalypse.





	Poor Five

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3!

Five opens his eyes slowly, squinting as the light grows too bright for his liking. His head feels like it's exploding. He groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he tries to recall the events of last night. 

He'd had a particularly bad flashback into the apocalypse. Unfortunately, he remembers every detail. The ash clogging his throat and making it difficult to breathe. The rubble of destroyed buildings littering the ruined streets around him. The chalky faces of his dead siblings stained with their own blood, dull eyes forever fixed on something forever out of reach. 

Just thinking about it makes Five want to cry. But he can't cry. Crying makes him feel weak and vulnerable. Vulnerability gets you killed. He can't allow himself to show any, no matter what. 

So he dries his eyes of any tears and moves to sit up, a sigh floating out of his lips as quiet as a whisper. The change of position draws his attention towards a pain in the lower part of his stomach. A pain he finds frighteningly familiar. 

Oh hell no. 

He groans quietly, raking his fingers through his dark brown hair in frustration. It was a week ago that he messed up Klaus' bed. He'd been doing so well, limiting his liquids to no more than a small glass a day. Obviously getting drunk last night has gone and fucked everything up. 

He pushes the blankets off of him - he's too hot anyways - and slides off of the mattress sluggishly. All of him aches, and his legs tremble, threatening to send him crashing to the ground. He grips the edge of the bed tightly as if his life depends on it and swallows thickly, considering his options. 

All he has to do is jump to the bathroom. After that it doesn't particularly matter what happens. It's much easier to clear up bathroom tiles than it is to cleanse carpet. No one will ever know. 

The discomfort in his bladder becomes distinctly more profound and he chews on his lip, clenching his fists and picturing the bathroom. 

In a flash of electric blue he disappears from the room. 

He doesn't reappear immediately. It takes a few seconds, the silence in the room thicker than oil, for him to crash back into this moment with another blinding flash of blue. 

But he's not in the bathroom. 

"Shit," Five curses, jamming his fists between his shaking legs. He's still in his bedroom, just a little closer to the door than he was before. He scrunches his eyes shut, blinking away pesky tears. 

He takes a few deep breaths, in an attempt to calm himself, but every breath comes out as a wheezy whine. The last time he felt this weak and useless was when he first arrived in the apocalypse, all those years ago in the future, a future that no longer exists. The apocalypse is only a ghost of his past now, a haunting beast to rip its poison tipped claws through his mind and drive him crazy with fear and pain. 

He swallows thickly once again, leaning his back against the wall beside the door, wincing as a streak of pain slices through his stomach. He can't help hating himself at this moment. He hates the vulnerability he's showing, even though no one is present to see it. He hates the tears building up behind his shut eyelids. He hates the aching pain he feels. He hates his stupid 13 year old body which was never ready to take on his 58 year old mind. 

He carefully moves his hand to rest on the tight aching bulge in his lower stomach. His cool hand feels oddly soothing against the hot skin. He crosses his legs over each other and clenches his fists, focusing his hardest on trying to jump. Nothing happens. He lets out a small sob as his hands drop to his sides, utterly giving up. He can't fucking move without wetting himself. 

His head hurts, all of him hurts. His legs are shaking with the strain of keeping him up this long. Another streak of pain flashes through him just as his legs give out, along with everything else. He crashes to the ground, heat growing between his legs. He covers his face with his hands, practically sobbing with the feeling of it all, as piss stains the carpet around him once more, soaking his legs. His cheeks flush red. 

He jumps as the door opens a beside him and Klaus' head pops around the corner, his face twisted with concern. "I have carpet cleaner," he mumbles, "D'you want me to go get it?" 

Five just nods, unable to take his hands from his face. He's too embarrassed. 

Klaus nods to himself and leaves to retrieve the carpet cleaner, without saying another word. 

Five sighs deeply, beginning to sit up as unsaid words for his brother float about in his head, each something he wishes he could say but never has the courage to. He glances down at the mess he's made. This better not become a regular thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this was okay :)


End file.
